Pawns
by Ed's Tomato
Summary: An old man and an old friend. Oneshot. formerly Chess in the Park


A Oneshot concerning the last part of X3. If you haven't seen it yet you might not want to be spoiled. I own nothing, which saddens me.

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An old man sat alone in the park. A shell of what he once was. Staring at his elaborate chess set. Entirely metal.

A tentative hand reached out toward a piece. Careful not to touch it.

Whatever he was about to try was interrupted by a soft voice, a slight accent to it. British.

"Hello Erik."

It was a young voice, and very familiar, though the old man hadn't heard it in some time.

He was heavily bundled, for such a warm day, and he practically fell into the seat opposite the old man. The hand that reached out to straighten a fallen piece was not the peachy hues of a human, but an odd greenish yellow.

"Feeling sorry for yourself?" The tone was slightly mocking, and finally the old man looked up into the overlarge familiar eyes.

"Gloating, Toad?"

The young man didn't seem to take offense at the name, and simply shrugged under the bulky coat he wore.

"It wouldn't be unreasonable if I were, would it?"

The old man didn't have an answer for that.

"You left me in prison, Erik. You left Mystique behind."

The young man, answering to Toad, moved a chess piece, starting a new game. He didn't expect an explanation from the old man. He knew his motives already. Wasn't even quite sure why he'd come, but he didn't think it was just to gloat. Nothing really to gloat over.

The old man moved his own piece in response, giving up on whatever experiment he'd been about to try alone. He focused on the young face in front of him, and saw all the mistakes he'd made over the years. Clear as day. _Charles was right_, he thought bitterly, wishing he'd had the opportunity to tell his old friend that.

He studied the young man, even as the young man studied the chessboard. When he'd first met Toad, he'd been a child. Defenseless, and afraid. The old man was responsible for what he was now. The hate that broiled just beneath the surface. _How had he gone so wrong?_ He'd lived through a Holocaust and had only wanted to prevent another. But thinking back to the fire and the screams, he wondered if perhaps, instead, he'd been responsible for it.

"How are you doing, Toad?" He asked, sounding as though he really wanted to know.

"I'm fine, Erik. You know me. Resilient."

Another piece moved. And another. A comfortable silence for a while.

Instead of insuring survival, he'd bred hate and violence. He'd been responsible for getting more mutants killed than any anti-mutant organization in existence. He moved another piece. He hadn't known Toad even knew how to play chess, but he was playing well. How little he knew of these children whose lives he'd taken.

"How is she?"

Toad glanced up at him.

"Not great. She's staying with me for a while. Trying to sort things out." He answered absently, biting his lip trying to decide on a next move.

The old man nodded. Pleased that they looked after each other better than he'd looked after them. He'd felt he was at the culmination of his ultimate goal and everything else had slipped away from him. Those who'd been so loyal to him, so faithful, cast off as he sprinted the last few yards to win.

But he hadn't won.

And he didn't now. Toad moved his last piece.

"Checkmate, Erik," He sounded pleased, in fact was flashing him a patented grin.

"Will you rebuild the Brotherhood?" The old man asked, and the young man shrugged.

"Maybe. Things will be different. There won't be any leaving anyone behind. Maybe not so much killing."

It seemed he wasn't the only one to have learned. And he wondered what had happened to the young man before him to make him mature in ways the old man had only begun to see.

"Maybe I'll just find me a little house in the country somewhere and make some babies with Mystique," He smirked, and the old man couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

Part of the old man hoped he wasn't. Maybe the madness could end with him. Maybe Charles' dream really did have a chance. The old man smiled to himself.

Toad stretched, and moved to get up.

"Take care of yourself, Erik."

The old man nodded to him. Watched him walk away. He didn't look back. Not once. But he shouldn't have expected him to. Not after what he'd put Toad through. It wouldn't have been unreasonable if Toad had killed him on the spot.

Sad that it took this to bring them all to their senses. Terrible that so many wouldn't be learning, nor learning anything ever again. And he was left a bitterly sad old man. No colossal titan, nor intimidating superpower. Just an old man. And even as he reached for a chess piece to return to the box and it quivered, seemingly of it's own accord, he thought to himself, _I am just an old man_. A foolish old man.

_But things would be different this next time._


End file.
